


Charlie Gets Lost

by daveyholmes (netherprince)



Series: Nightly Writings [3]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Kinda, M/M, Pet Play, so uh, yeah this is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 17:44:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/netherprince/pseuds/daveyholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the title implies, Charlie gets lost and has to get picked up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charlie Gets Lost

You’re not sure if Mac ever thought anyone would actually have to call the number on the collar he ~~handpicked~~ got you, but here you are.

This is why you aren’t left alone outside of the bar or your apartment without an actual direction, especially without some kind of phone, you get lost and you have no clue where you are. You’re 99% positive you’ve never been in this part of Philadelphia. Literally nothing is familiar, and you- you hate this.

Of course, your idea is that you need to curl up on a corner and make pathetic noises until Mac comes and picks you up. Like that totally won’t get you into more shit. But, hey, it’s not like a mall where they can call him for you! So, of course, of course, you sit there and basically make all the sad, lost animal noises you know. It gets you a rock thrown at your head. It doesn’t hit you, but it’s enough to tip you into bolting, right into some dude you’ve never seen before.

"Jesus Christ, watch it- Hey, whoa, kid, are you… Are you alright?" Oh, he’s not gonna kill you. That’s great! The last thing you’d want to do right now is die, before getting to do all kinds of cool boyfriend shit. 

"No, uh, well, yeah, I’m kinda really lost? And, and I have no idea where I am, am I still in America? I mean, it’s not really cold or hot enough to be outside it, I think, but I might be?" You’re babbling, and this guy looks like he’s getting ready to brush you off. "Do you, hey, dude, please, do you like, have a phone? My, my b-. my, my buddy’s number is on here," you stammer, grabbing at the leather of your collar, at the metal tag, jerking on it a little, "and if you could call him, he could come get me? Please? I don’t, I don’t wanna be lost out here."

He looks at you, and sighs so heavily he could be Dennis trying to out-act Dee, and leans in and peers at the collar, repeating the numbers while you just stand there, focusing on ‘breathe in, breathe out.’ "Hello, is this Mac? This is Richard Walken, I found your… buddy." You end up tuning the rest out, thinking about whether Mac’ll be mad at you or not. You hope he isn’t too mad, god, that’d suck, you hate letting him down and screwing up.

"Hey, uh, Charlie?" You’re Charlie. You look up, startled back into wherever you are. "Mac says he’ll be here in about ten minutes. I’ll stay right here with you. So, uh. You’re the guy who wrote that play awhile back, right?" This, of course, causes you to go off about how cool it was to write a play and have people see and stuff, which passes the time until you hear a much better voice call your name.

The absolute only reaction to this, of course, is to bound over and wrap your arms around him and whimper and kiss and maybe lick and nibble at his neck as he holds you tight and makes valiant attempts to talk to the nice guy who liked your play, even if the end went all funky. “Thanks for keeping an eye on him, he’s not good at staying put, thanks for… calling… yeah.” Mac trails off as you whine and press yourself closer, and Robert or whatever makes some excuse to leave.

"If you ever do that to me again, I will actually kill you, you know that right, babe? You can’t just run off like that, I was checking out all the places I know you know trying to find you." A mumbled apology seems to work, because he just grumbles and presses kisses to your hair. "You’re so weird sometimes, baby."

You don’t care when he calls you weird, because it’s a good thing, because that means you’re his good boy and you didn’t fuck up too bad. You’re actually doing something right for once, and you’ll hold onto that feeling forever just like him wrapping you up in his arms and carrying you back to the van. 

You’re his good boy, and that’s never gonna change, because he tells you so, right in your ear as he gets rid of all your whimpers and shakes.


End file.
